Metal Gear Solid: Destructive Redemption
by Burny
Summary: CHAPTER 3 ADDED Terrorists seize and crash a cruise ship through the Brooklyn Naval Yard in NYC. Otacon and Snake happen to be aboard, returning from a vacation in the Bahamas. Rated R for violence, language, and some sexual content. Please RR!
1. Seizing the Cruise Ship

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of the series' characters or the weapons and vehicles named throughout the series. However, I DO OWN the characters that I create.

**Metal Gear Solid: Destructive Redemption**

**Chapter 1: Prelude to Destruction**

_"In the blink of an eye, the world changes. Everytime you blink something happens. One man can be elected to the United States Congress. Another man can save the life of an eight year old boy. And yet another man is the future president of one's country. The world is a mysterious changing place and the 'what', 'why', 'when', and 'how' of a situation can never be known...only predicted. You can't always trust predictions, though. But yet, people trust them anyways because it's the only thing close to the truth that they can accept."_

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New York City. A bustling burg filled to the brink with lawyers, gangsters, drug junkies, and tall buildings. It would make any man on his first visit to this metropolis claustrophobic, even if he didn't have a history of that phobia. Move away from the business district and you're now in the suburbs. The one area where any person whom walks the streets of Manhattan feels safe from the psychos in the dark side alleys of the Bronx or, worse yet, Harlem.

But once you get past the extremely urban buildings and bad men lurking in the shadows, this major American city is not so bad. There's plenty accomodities and plenty of food and attractions. It is also home to many organizations officially recognized by the United States government and the United Nations. One such organization goes by the name "Philanthropy".

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But on this day, September 28th 2006, the usually blue and cloudy skies of Manhattan are gloomy. Black clouds loom across the sky and the downpour of rain is inevitable. Appearing on the horizon of the ocean is a cruise ship that had just returned from its two and a half week trip from New York Harbor to Nassau, the capital of the Bahamas (one week to get there, four days in the Bahamas, and a week to get back to New York). The fact that it was about to rain was disappointing for many of the tourists, so instead of standing out on the deck and getting soaked, they all hurried to the covered seating area in the center part of the deck on the ship.

A man in khaki pants and a Hawaiian T-shirt started giving a history of the cruise ship business he was in and the land marks and sites of New York. An older man, dressed in a gray poncho, was clearly bored of the ordeal and with nothing better to do, he pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it with his lighter. He took a puff of the cig and then he was calmed down.

"Um, sir," the man in khakis said. The poncho-dressed man looked up, flashing a disapproving scowl. "There's no smoking on the deck."

The older man, about in his early 40s, grumbled to himself then said, "I understand." He snuffed the cig out with his heel as he put the pack into his pocket. _Damn, this is boring_, he thought. A second later, he stood from his seat and walked out from under the plastic covering and toward one of the safety railings that prevented anyone from falling overboard. Good. He could see the ghostly silhouette horizon of some of Manhattan's buildings, with the Statue of Liberty slightly closer. Good. About another forty-five minutes and he'd be off this boat.

His vacation to the Bahamas was actually not all that bad. He'd needed a little R&R, which is good every once and a while. With his hands in his pockets, he strolled away from the railing and toward a set of steps that led down into the first-class section, in the bow beneath the deck. He pulled the hood down from his head, a blue-grayish bandana moving with him as he walked. He stopped at a corner, looked around, and walked down the corridor to his left. A few moments later he entered the cafeteria.

It was noisy, as usual, as he scanned the whole area, probably about the size of half a football field. This older man spotted his colleague, whom was wearing glasses and a white lab coat. He quickly walked over to him.

"Hey, Snake? So, you enjoying the ride home?" Otacon said, loud enough to hear but not to irritate anyone around him.

"Ehh, can't say I do. It's more crowded then it was when we came down, but I got nothing to complain about," Snake said. His gruff, gravelly voice would make anyone shake in fear.

"That part I can agree on." Otacon took a bite of his chicken salad. "So, how far away are we from docking?"

"About forty-five minutes. The coast-line was barely visible, but I could see Lady Liberty some."

"You know, I'm surprised about the accomodations for a cruise ship. It's not what every says it is, but it's still pretty nice," Otacon said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. He left the plastic plate on the table, knowing one of the waitresses will come and pick it up. They both stood and started walking back to their quarters.

"Yea, that's true," Snake replied. "But the only annoying thing I don't like is that the walls are too thin. One night on the way down, I could hear this couple one cabin over having sex. Kept me awake for half the night." He shook his head.

Otacon chuckled. "You're just jealous because you don't have a woman for yourself."

Snake smilied sheepishly. "Yea...I guess you're right." _What he said _is _true though, _Snake said to himself. _Having the kind of job I have means you don't have much of a love life. _But that was a small price to pay for something that mattered more: stopping terrorists from getting what they want.

"You know..." Snake went on then after a pause. "It's supposed to rain today. I saw the clouds forming up overhead. Sure puts a damper on alot of people's plans." The muted sound of thunder was noted just then, and the also muted sounds of rain hitting the deck were heard. "It's begun."

The rest of the walk back to their places was in silence. Otacon was three cabins away from where Snake was staying. They each took out a key and unlocked the door, almost simultaneously. They gathered up all their stuff, making sure they wouldn't leave anything behind. They both sat in their cabins for ten minutes, staring at the ceiling.

Not for long. Snake suddenly snapped to, thinking he heard a helicopter whirring out overhead. He rushed from his room and listened closely. "Yep, definantly a PAH2 Tiger," he whispered. The Tiger was a helicopter of German manufacture. But what was a German helicopter doing in New York Harbor?

The sounds of gunshots were heard next and Snake's eyes widened. "G36s!" he proclaimed. He looked back and Otacon stood there in the hallway. "C'mon!" Snake yelled. "We got a job to do!" Otacon followed after Snake, whom was running out onto the deck. He squinted, looking toward the stern, and he saw two Tigers with about six men in each free-rope onto the deck. So, these were the transport versions. They had to have been, for the normal PAH2s were just battleship helicopters. Snake thought the transport model hadn't gone into production yet, but appearently it had (or maybe the blue prints were stolen). On the starboard side, another Tiger with four men rappeled to the ground, and near the bridge, another one hovered with three men roping down.

Snake pulled off his rain-coat, despite the fact that it was raining, and he pulled his USP off his belt. A magazine was already loaded and Snake flipped the safety off as Otacon joined him at his side. Two years after the Big Shell incident, the scientist/tech junkie had become more tougher and efficient (mainly because Snake had personally trained him for situations like this) with a few different types of weapons. In Otacon's right hand was a SIG-Sauer P220, the standard pistol used by the Secret Service. Another Tiger hovered a few meters away from the pair. Six more men rappeled down toward them, firing their G36s.

"Oh crap!" Solid Snake and Hal ran for cover behind the covered stairway, popping out from each side to fire at the terrorists. One died while still rappeling down and the sound of his spinal cord cracking was heard when he hit the deck. That was courtesy of Snake, who shot him right in the heart. Otacon managed to wound one of the terrorists by shooting him in his right bicep, blood spraying into the air and falling to the deck. The terrorist could only shoot left-handed now.

"I think they're trying to take over the ship's controls!" Snake yelled over the roaring wind. Otacon only nodded, then a few minutes later he shouted back "We should head for the bridge and we should try and neutralize the terrorists there!" The pair quickly ran down the steps again, ducking their heads down as 9mm bullets smacked into the metal wall where they'd just been. But soon after the descended, they ran back up. A bloom of fire and shrapnel shot up the stairs where they'd just vacated. They weren't going back down. They were staying on the deck.

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In the third-class section of the ship, located near the stern, everything had gone to hell in a basket. People were running for their lives, screaming and pushing as they tried to get to some sort of safety. People were getting shot left and right as the very tanned man in navy blue sweats casually walked toward the steps that led outside, seemingly ignoring the chaos around him. One man ran up to him, grabbing his shirt collar, and screamed, "Help me! You gotta fucking help me!" He was subsequently shot by one of the German terrorists.

The terrorist nodded to the tanned man and he returned it. He walked out onto the deck towards one of the life rafts. He climbed over the railing and started lowering himself down to the water.

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Snake noticed a man down near the stern lowering himself into a life boat, which was a violation of cruise ship rules, he knew. He shouted after the man and the man looked over at him. He looked like a European. The boat lowered even faster as Snake ran towards the railing as he leaned over to aim at the boat. At this range Solid Snake knew he would miss, but he had to try to hit him anyway. He squeezed the trigger six times, all misses. One had almost hit if it hadn't been for the wind The tanned man in sweats released the raft boat from its clamp and it hit the water. The man started the motor up and when he drove by Snake, he pulled out a Mini-Uzi from his pocket and fired up at him.

Snake gasped in surprise and ducked down at the same time. _I wonder if he signaled these terrorists to arrive..._ Snake wondered. He and Otacon both felt the ship increase quite a few knots as the bulky cruise ship sped toward the Brooklyn Naval Yard. Somehow they knew it was too late to try to get to the bridge and change course.

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In a watch-tower in the Brooklyn Naval Yard, a naval officer scanned the ocean with his highly sophisticated binoculars. Nothing he could see. He would've been able to see farther but a thick covering of fog obscured the view. It was rainy outside, with the occasional lightning and thunder. His partner sat at a control panel watching a football game. The Green Bay Packers versus the Baltimore Ravens in a Super Bowl game.

It was fourth down, last quarter, and the score was tied. The Packers only had to run ten more yards to score a touch-down. "Hike!" the TV sounds emitted and the commentator started doing his job. One of the Packers ran for the goal as the navy officer's partner started yelling "C'mon, c'mon, GO, GO!" The football player scored the touch-down. "YES, FUCK YES! YEE-HAW!" He knocked over his chair and started dancing.

"Uh, Carl, you might want to take a look at this," the officer, Darren, said. Carl stopped dancing and walked over to look through the binoculars. A cruise ship was rapidly approaching the Brooklyn Naval Yard, with helicopters whirring around it and yellow flashes emitting from the deck.

"What the fuck?!" was Carl's first reaction. "What the..." Then he saw the cruise liner gaining steam and heading straight for the watch-tower. _Oh shit!_ Carl's mind screamed.

"Attention! Attention!" Darren said on the intercom and setting off the alarm. "A cruise ship is fast approaching the naval yard! Evacuate all posts at once and head inland!"

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"Snake! The ship's getting closer to New York!" Otacon screamed. "It's gonna crash into the Brooklyn Naval Yard!"

"What should we do?!" Snake yelled back as the liner sped past the Statue of Liberty, a wave of the ocean splashing onto the island Lady Liberty resided on. Otacon looked around and spotted a life boat.

"There! A life boat, get in the life-boat Snake!" They both sprinted toward one of the rafts, and hastily lowered it down to the water. The boat sped off as far away as possible from the future crash-landing. Snake looked back into the distance and watched the ship speed toward the Brooklyn Naval Yard.

"How can it go so fast?" he mumbled to no one in particular.

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Meanwhile, Darren and Carl were busying trying to descend the stairs of the tower, the big window showing the progress of the ship's imminent crash-landing. Carl stopped sprinting down the stairs, knowing he would die anyway. He stopped, watched the ship, said a final prayer, and whispered, "Jesus be with me in Heaven."

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Snake watched in horror as the German PAH2 Tiger helicopters backed off and flew back into the fog. The cruise liner crashed through the plywood docks, smashed into some ships docked (leaving massive gashes in their sides or sinking some of the smaller boats), and even managed to plow through two blocks of street. Six tall buildings were knocked down and the bow of the ship exploded, taking out smaller buildings in the surrounding area. It was like a big display of fireworks and dust flying everywhere. Alot of innocent people died that day. This event was what started Otacon and Snake's next big mission: find out who did this, why it was done, and also to stop the Patriots.

Shocked and drained of energy, Otacon started the boat back up, and sped for the nearest dock.


	2. A Terrorist Incident

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of the series' characters or the weapons and vehicles named throughout the series. However, I DO OWN the characters that I create.

**Metal Gear Solid: Destructive Redemption**

**Chapter 2: A Terrorist Incident**

_"While young men and women are sent off to foreign countries to fight wars for us, we sit back and act like we don't give a damn. The American population must remember that these fresh courageous soldiers are the bringers of peace and the defenders of our Constitution. Without them, there would be no freedom of speech. No freedom of the press. No freedom of religion. All those things you so value in your hearts...would not exist without a powerful military. Our Founding Fathers wrote that Constitution because they had a vision...and that vision was for the future generations to live in freedom."_

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So far, it seemed that the only major news network to catch wind of a cruise liner smashing through the Brooklyn Naval Yard was CNN. CNN was now America's most trusted news network and _that_ was a serious burden for the reporters to carry. The show on CNN that aired in the morning was entitled "The World Around You", its host being a fresh-faced twenty-four year old blonde female by the name of Nicole Adams. To be honest, she was a very attractive woman, but if anybody in the news room thought that, they sure as hell didn't say it to her.

Nicole was a tough, professional, get-to-the-point type of woman. She was probably one of the network's best news anchors and she carried that award with her head held high. But, like all reporters, she had a big ego. Sometimes egos were what destroyed news networks. Like the forged document scandal on the CBS network. It had resulted in Dan Rather, the one whom aired that false tale, being forced to resign.

The director behind the camera held up his left hand and he removed a finger for each number he counted. "Five...four...three...two...one," he announced. "Rolling!"

"Good morning everyone," Adams greeted the four million or so people watching, "and welcome to another addition of The World Around You. This morning, a terrible situation has happened in New York City. A cruise ship that was part of the _New York-Nassau Cruise Vacation_ ocean liner company crashed through the Brooklyn Naval Yard and through two city blocks. It has been reported that six major buildings, as well as several smaller ones, have been demolished.

"So far, reports on the scene indicate that when the ship crashed, the bow exploded and wiped out more of the surrounding area. Now we go to the scene of this terrible tragedy live with Chris Brooks." A video screen switched on on the wall next to Nicole and she turned to watch and ask questions as nessacary. Chris Brooks, in his mid 30s, stood calmly in front of the crashed cruise ship. It obviously made him look very small. In other circumstances it would've been comical.

"Chris," Nicole said to the screen. "What are the latest figures on casualties?" There was a brief pause which meant the message was being transmitted to Chris' ear piece.

"Nicole, the situation here is very bad and I mean _very _bad," Brooks reported. "So far it seems that there were approximately seven hundred fifty people aboard the cruise liner and about two hundred more working in the buildings." Another pause.

"And do you think this was an accident? A simple malfunction or the captain nodded off at the wheel?"

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"Well, Nicole, from government investigators on the scene, this doesn't appear to have been an accident. They say it might be a terrorist incident."

"Yea, tell me something I don't know..." Solid Snake muttered as he turned off the small TV on his desk, sipping a cup of coffee with his feet propped up. He craned his neck to where Otacon was. "Hey, Otacon, you get any information on those terrorists?"

"Hold on, hold on..." Otacon replied as he furiously typed in a string of keys. He pressed the 'Enter' button. "Viola! Okay, here we go." Snake pushed back his chair, standing and walking over to his best friend. He looked over his shoulder and took another sip of his coffee.

"The data I managed to extract from various military web sites have indicated that those helicopters were not American nor Russian manufacture. In fact, they were made in Germany," Otacon explained.

"Well," Snake replied nonsurprisingly, "I guess that confirms the assement I made on the boat. Go on."

"Also, the weapons are of German manufacture. Manufactured by Hechler and Koch, the type of weapon they used were G36s, assault rifles."

"Again, that confirms my suspicsions. Hmm..." Snake mulled this over in his head. "We must be talking about German terrorists here. Whatever they had planned they'd succeeded at. They took the lives of 950 American citizens and that's not good. They could strike again."

"You may be right, Snake," Otacon replied. "But despite the fact we know that they're terrorists, I've yet to find a link between these guys and known bunchs of German terrorists." A box suddenly appeared on Hal's computer screen. "Ah! Hold on, I might be getting that link now."

Solid Snake took a chair from a nearby table and pulled it up next to Otacon's seat. He went to take yet another sip of his coffee and he was startled to find it empty. His puzzlement was amusing, like he was asking the mug if there was a speck of coffee lurking in a hidden corner. Almost as suddenly as Dave had finished his coffee, so sudden was Otacon kicked back to the desktop.

"Damn it..." Otacon muttered frustratingly. He slammed his fist on the desk.

"What?" Snake asked, suddenly alert. "What happened??"

"I got booted offline. I was _almost _there too."

"Do you think you were being traced?"

"Oh please, you know I'm too good for that."

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A pale white man sat in the darkness of his room, the illuminating glow of the computer screen being the only source of light. He spotted something unusual on the network and, intrigued, he investigated it.

_So..._ he thought amusingly. _Trying to learn something, are we? That's not gonna happen._ The hacker typed in three series of keys, pressed F12, then typed in his password. A few more keys on his keyboard, and he pressed 'Enter'. He watched the person's commands on another screen and he grinned evily as the other person was booted off his computer.

A door opened behind him and a filter of light circulated into the room. The lights flipped on. A tall muscular man in black clandestine fatigues walked over.

"Sir Dieter," the hacker said in German. "What are you doing here?"

"Just checking up on you, Erwin," Dieter replied, patting him on the shoulder. "You should really get some sunlight. You'll never grow or be stimulated if you remain here."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah...I know. But look at this." Erwin, the hacker, pointed at the screen.

Dieter leaned closer and his eyes widened a little bit. "Someone trying to obtain information? How ignorant of them. You did stop them right?"

The skinny pale hacker nodded energetically. "_Avole_. I booted them off."

"Good, good. Here." Dieter searched around in his web belt and produced a Walther PPK and two clips of ammo, one already loaded in the clip. "You might need this, in case the damned police come and sniff around. Oh...and take this box too." He walked outside into the hall and produced a box, which he kicked toward Erwin's closet. "This will cover you up so you aren't arrested. Inside are clandestine clothes like the ones I'm wearing, faked documents that say you're part of the German Special Forces--"

"What if they do a background check?" Erwin asked warily.

"Not too worry!" Dieter lowered his voice some. "I got a contact within the GSF that'll confirm your indentity."

Erwin the Hacker looked into Dieter's eyes and said, "Thank you. I'll never forget this."

"You're welcome, Erwin. Anytime, man. Good day to you," the muscular man replied and he made his way towards the apartment room door exit.

"Good day to you, too," Erwin yelled and the door was shut. Strangely, Erwin didn't bother to turn the lights off. Instead he turned his computer off, put the clandestine clothes in the closet, and laid the fake yet real-looking service record next to the computer tower. He put on a polar fleece jacket, grabbed his keys, and locked his apartment door.

_Dieter is right_, Erwin said to himself. _I _do _need to get out more often_. Maybe today was one of those days.

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"And that's all for this morning," Nicole Adams concluded. "It is regretful that this had to happen but then again, I don't think there could've been a way to prevent this. This is a sad day in American history, like the 9/11 attacks from five years ago. This is Nicole Adams on The World Around You on CNN signing off. Good day and may God be with those dead souls." The light on the camera snapped off and her day was finished. She stood from her chair, stretching her back to get all the kinks out. Some of the news crew gave each other "looks" and they smiled, the kind when you see a hot girl.

After she was finished stretching, Nicole walked off the stage and toward the director. "How'd I do?" she asked. The director felt nervous just then because he was face-to-face with a pretty woman. She'd never asked him face-to-face before. Hoping to keep the conversation short and not make an ass out of himself he replied, "You were great, Nicole. Really."

"Awww, thanks, Robert! That's nice of you!" And she walked away to her dressing room, those high-heels clacking on the tile floor, her butt swaying from side to side, begging to be fucked from behind.

_She does this every goddamned time when the program's over..._ Robert thought. _I swear, I think one of these days I'll just fucking pass out._


	3. I've Come to Get the Package

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of the series' characters or the weapons and vehicles named throughout the series. However, I DO OWN the characters that I create.

**Metal Gear Solid: Destructive Redemption**

**Chapter 3: "I've Come to Get the Package"**

_"Saving a person's life is probably one of the greatest acts a human being can perform. You don't have to be a soldier in the USMC or a surgeon at Johns Hopkin to save lives, although those brave men and women who have perfected their occupations into arts still do that. No, any average person can save a life. If you're walking on the street and a man suddenly collapses, you're call to 9-1-1 might save the man. But if you're five seconds late, whatever unknown force inside his body takes that man's life. And for the rest of YOUR life, you'll have felt guilty for not doing something. That's why it pays to do good in the service of others."_

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Erwin the Hacker was finally getting some fresh air. It was a change of pace for the young man, a German hacker/data retriever that offered his services to anyone for a fee--including terrorists. His job basically meant to hack into random foreign computer agencies and gather information on what's currently happening. Once a location had been selected, the terrorist group would go to work and Erwin would be paid before the mission. He had a five-hit contract with them. One hit had already been performed (and it had succeeded rather well) and that had been the cruiser liner crash.

Currently, he was supposed to be looking up another potential target for these terrorists to attack. One of them suggested the White House but Dieter had spoken against him. He had said it would've been too hard because empty airspace around Washington D.C. was virtually non-existent. Harriers, F-16s, and other such aircraft pratrolled the D.C from the city itself out to a five hundred mile radius.

Infiltrating that airspace would've been difficult to do, as none of the terrorists had any expeirence with flying an aircraft. _And so_, Erwin said to himself, _the damned bastards want me to find them a renegade clandestine pilot who's pissed at the current ways of the world._ That thought actually brought a wry smile to his face. Erwin sat on a bench on the sidewalk of a busy street, smoking an American Marlboro. _All in an attempt to fulfil their obscene goal of a "better world, filled with peace for all". _God_, the world's a crazy bitch!_

Religious suicide wasn't the way these terrorists got their job done. That was left to the jihads in the Far East. Except for that one man. The man whom helped to signal this group. _His_ name was Abutwa al-Qwuami, a man held up in high regard in Dieter's eyes. A valuable informat for this group. His only shortcoming was the fact that he could be a little hot-headed. But that Syrian was one slick revolutionary, Erwin Schneider admitted.

Erwin was fond of al-Qwuami, mainly because this Middle Eastener (whom was born in Syria, raised in Afghanistan) was a (secret) supporter of communisim. Unlike most of his countrymen who worshipped the false beliefs of Islam, Abutwa embraced the teachings of Karl Marx as if it were his own child. Despite the widely stereotype fact that only Russians were communists, this Afghan was a great exception to that rule.

_So long as the bastard doesn't get caught_, Erwin thought suddenly, cracking an evil, involuntary grin. Speaking of which, the hacker wondered, what is the old chap up to?

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The Middle East was the type of place that made a nation's headlines, be it in the paper or on television. This was mainly because it was an area that harbored boatloads of known terrorists and acts of terrorism and common crime were commited daily among these unsovereign countries. Except Iraq, of course, and their damned American fat-fucks. But Afghanistan was one of the more milder countries to harbor terrorism. Crime was still rampant, but it had decreased a hell of alot since Iraq became a free democracy.

About one time zone away, Abutwa al-Qwuami was having a rather pleasant time with himself. There was nothing more greater then drinking a cheap brand of vodka and deciding what kind of terrorist acts he should pull off. He also had a new technique he had more recently adopted so he could think more intensely.

This so-called "technique" was quite simple: lure two young fellow countrywomen back to his home and force them to violate themselves in front of a video camera. These women would be _so scared_ out of their minds that usually they'd just comply with this man's orders, knowing that men were superior in this part of the world and that they were on the lower end of the spectrum. Than again, the men viewed Middle Eastern women as mere "objects" that would be subject to manipulation. But never in such a way as this. Sometimes he even had some of his men abduct or sedate a woman from another country such as the US or Britian (mainly because he would grow tired of the "same old skin").

The moral part of Abutwa's brain knew it was wrong but he usually countered that thought with the pissed-off women's activists in America, and _that _thought made him chuckle. Currently he had a British woman and a Kuwaiti woman trapped in his home. He had made doubly sure that the house was extremely secure so that any of his women he captured couldn't escape and report him. Because, after all, it wouldn't do to be stuck in a prison cell with no will to live.

The Brit (statistics: age 25, brown hair, blue eyes, five feet and six inches) was handcuffed to a stainless-steel pole that he had installed in his living room about a month ago. Her eyes went wide as he entered the room (causing her to stop pole-dancing for the camera) and look on in terror. She tried to back away as far as her chained state would let her. As al-Qwuami approached, he flipped off the video camera that was mounted on a tripod. The Brit was naked of course and the only piece of clothing she wore were a pair of white high-heels she had already been wearing. The Kuwaiti woman was adorned much the same way. The pairs breats jiggled deliciously in front of him.

"What the _hell_ do you want from me?!" the Brit yelled at him. "Why are you making me do this?!"

Abutwa walked over towards and leaned in toward her face. He smilied, a gesture that made her uncomfortable. He explained, in perfect English: "You see, you and this Kuwait are helping me think more...intensely. Your actions are pleasant and soothing. Does one such as you not understand--" His sentence was cut off due to the fact that he was kicked in the balls, a rather painful expeirence because he'd been hit with a heeled shoe in a region of considerable sensitivity.

"Listen, you fucked-accent bitch..." the Syrian replied, recovering from the blow. "You just don't seem to get it, do you?" Now on his feet, the terrorist produced a stolen silenced Browning Hi-Power. "If you cooperate with me, and I'm sure you'd want to, then I won't have to do this--"

Without warning, he aimed the pistol at the Kuwaiti, and shot her in the head. The tape around secured on her mouth prevented her from screaming. She collapsed down the pole with the handcuff still around her wrist. "Now...do what I _fucking_ tell you to do and you won't end up like her!"

Abutwa al-Qwuami walked over behind the video camera. "Now, get on the floor, spread your legs apart, and finger yourself...NOW!" The British woman had no other choice but to comply. The door rang just then, and the Syrian was disgusted. "Who could the shit could that be?!"

He opened the door and he was surprised. There stood a man in his early fifties, with a white hair and handle-bar moustache, and a slight accent. This here was a man of all-time socialist career.

"O-Ocelot!" Abutwa stammered. "Goddamn, I wish I'd knew you'd be coming. What're you doing here?"

"Abutwa...you know why I'm here," Ocelot replied, taking a few short steps into the house, his brown cowboy boots clapping the ground. "I've come to get the package."

The Brit stopped fingering herself for the camera and looked over at the new arrival. She wasn't the least bit relieved. Instead, she grew more terrified.

"Ocelot, you know I don't know what you're talking about." There was laughter tangled in Ocelot's response. "Mr. al-Qwuami, I don't think you understand my English." The Russian man pulled out a Colt Single Shot revolver and aimed it straight in the Syrian terrorist's face. "I said...I've come to get the package." He depressed the trigger and before the bullet even had hit the man, he aimed the revolver at the naked British girl and shot her as well.

"Hmph." Revolver Ocelot walked over to a coffee table, dropping his revolver and picking up a bunch of blue-prints. As the Russian man made his way to the door, he looked over at the dead Kuwaiti, then the Brit he'd shot only seconds ago. He scowled at the dead woman, spit on her cold lifeless corpse, and said:

"Your Prime Minister will be joining you soon enough...Princess of Wales." With that, Ocelot shut the door, locked it, and got in his car. His flight to the United States would take off in two hours. It would've been best of him not to be late.


End file.
